


Scaretale

by LeafOfTrees



Series: Become The Beast [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alfred has really messed up., Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Darkish Bruce, Drug fuelled hallucinations, Horror/ Fantasy elements, Inspired by Labyrinth (1986), Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Separation Anxiety, Unhealthy Relationships, established relationship Jeremiah/ Bruce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafOfTrees/pseuds/LeafOfTrees
Summary: Dark AU: Bruce is about to undergo a very transformative experience, betrayed by the people he considers family…Taken against his will!Drugged!Forced to experience terrifying horrors within his mind, torn away from the man he loves.War is coming! Jeremiah was content with Bruce by his side, until the unimaginable happens... Bruce is missing.He moved the stars for no one except Bruce. He would stop for no one except Bruce.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Series: Become The Beast [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944361
Comments: 23
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Capture The Prince . 

There is something profoundly unsettling when it comes to the Dark Zone, a silence, bone deep surrounds the pair, tucked away within shadows in hopes of not being sighted by the inhabitants prowling the dark, they have been contemplating for days now the movement they have settled to take, no longer can they bear to overhear reports of The Mad King and his Dark Prince — governing over the Dark Zone. Respected, feared, revered by the scum of Gotham.

Worshiped like gods by devoted Acolytes.

Quite frankly, it leaves a bitter taste in the man’s mouth, to realise the lad he loves like a son, the sweet faced little boy he’d helped nurture and raise has become so entrapped within his darkness. For months now Alfred Pennyworth had pleaded with Bruce, short of failing to his knees and begging like a desperate fool, though he was not above trying such tactics if they would break through to the boy.

That desperation clawing at him had led him to concoct a plan that had led them here, he perceived before even approaching Selina, that she would be easy to sway onboard — and so here they were stalking the streets in the Dark Zone, scouting for the path that lead to Jeremiah’s sanctuary; the bastion of The Mad King.

The title he'd become known as among the inhabitants of the Dark Zone. 

The plan Alfred had hatched was simple; to lure Bruce out into the open and thanks to Selina and her connections — she had procured a sedative that would knock Bruce into oblivion, so Alfred could steal him away and try, try, try to reason with him.

He hasn't inquired where Selina obtained the syringe he’s currently clutching within his coat pocket, perhaps he should have, but desperate times called for desperate measures, they had selected a deserted building to use as the base of this operation, unfortunately just within the outer fringe of the Dark Zone, not altogether in the security of the Green Zone, but he hoped, should anybody go searching for Bruce — the Green Zone would expectedly be the first place for them to investigate. 

Not only that, but carrying a heavy, unconscious Bruce would prove challenging for two people; so a base of operations had to be sourced in the nearby vicinity. Once they manage to clear Bruce’s mind, when he finally sees sense, then they’d make the journey into the Green Zone.

Alfred was sure he could get through to the boy, if he only had the time to try. And surely separating him from Jeremiah worked in his favour, lessoning whatever hold the madman had over Bruce. 

Selina abruptly stops beside him, laying a hand on Alfred's arm, her eyes searing into him. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m certain, surer than I’ve ever been... I have to try to save him Selina.” The resolve in his statement is laced heavily with the suffering she’d often see line his face. She knew how the last five months had torn Alfred apart: knowing Bruce had somehow elected to run with Jeremiah.

It made scant sense to her, oh she’d witnessed how close they had become while they worked on those generators. How could she not hear the breathless awe in Bruce’s voice or miss the way his eyes brightened at Jeremiah’s name? She just... hadn’t realised he’d fallen so far into Jeremiah’s twisted thrall.

And when the bridges had collapsed, when Alfred and Barbara, Tabitha and Oswald had returned from confronting Jeremiah and Ra’s Al Ghul, having been informed on where he’d be located by Jeremiah Valeska, with Bruce being held hostage.. That moment when they had returned shocked and horrified by the destruction caused, the lives lost and ruined in its wake.

Successful in destroying Ra’s Al Ghul. But with no sight of her friend, Bruce Wayne had slipped away after Jeremiah. Alfred had witnessed it with his eyes. Anger had been her first response, followed by a sense of betrayal and then worry.

How could Bruce be so reckless, so selfish?

She nods slowly, “alright...you know if this doesn’t go to plan, if… he isn't being manipulated, and he’s there by his own free will...you know he’ll never forgive us, right?” She wanted to be sure Alfred was prepared for the truth she knew in her heart and hearts; that Bruce really, truly did love Jeremiah, that he was here by his choice.

She’d only agreed because she felt sorry for Alfred and secretly hoped this would hammer home the truth he so desperately fought against. Against her better judgment Selina had called in a favour with Magpie and asked her if she could get her hands on a sedative — two days later Magpie sought her out, demanded her payment and offered the syringe she guaranteed would knock someone out for a few hours. 

“He’s my boy,” Alfred stresses squeezing his fists, “I have to try.” She understands that, truly she does, but Selina had hoped Alfred would have just accepted that Bruce was gone, his choice made.

Alfred was in for an awakening that would be excruciatingly painful for him and for Selina to witness.

“Then we’ll try, we’re approaching the sanctuary — we should find a good viewing spot and wait.” Somewhere they had a clear view of the Church entrance and once they spotted Bruce, Selina would attempt to attract his attention.

A sudden thought occurs to her, and she turns to Alfred, “I should lure him closer to base, less distance to carry him and less chance we’ll be seen.” Selina was confident she could persuade Bruce to walk with her, he was always far too chivalrous for his own good.

For a few moments Selina thinks Alfred with argue and insist on remaining here with her, but he seems to come to the same conclusion and nods, throwing one last glance towards the Church.

“Alright, I’ll fall back, stick close to base and when I spot you — I’ll sneak up behind and hit him with the sedative.” He gave her a tight smile.

She watched him slip back into the shadows and disappear from view before casting her gaze back to the pale bricked building, now it was just a waiting game but from sources she’d been able to squeeze information from — Bruce liked to stand on the rooftop almost daily — so she waited pressed against the shadows of the building opposite Jeremiah’s sanctuary.

—-

—-

Bruce stretched out upon waking from a restful slumber, unsure of the time of day but from the darkness befallen the room, daylight hours had faded away and he’d slept them away, he much preferred slipping through the shadows anyway but the reason for his lengthy slumber lay at his side.

Dark eyes drank in the image of Jeremiah slumbering deeply, he looked peaceful, serene, a vision of breathtaking beauty with his hair untamed, in slight disarray, strands of flyaway dark hair resting against his forehead - Bruce couldn’t resist running his fingers across pale cheeks, or leaning closer to brush his lips to Jeremiah’s, stealing a soft, swift kiss before he rises from the bed. 

Jeremiah doesn’t wake but murmurs Bruce’s name softly as if aware he’d left his side. 

  
  


Sanctuary is bustling with activity as Jeremiah’s acolytes fill the halls, Bruce makes his way to the kitchen, in need of a cup of coffee, ignoring the bowed heads and looks of adoration as people clear a path, it’s makes Bruce think of how people would act toward royalty — oh, he’d heard the whispers of what people of the Dark zone called them, such titles didn’t exactly please him, though he knew Jeremiah lapped them up. 

Pushing down his irritations when he reaches the coffee machine, powered by one of the few remaining generators Jeremiah had not yet detonated. Only to have Cedric one of the newest recruits rush over, grab a cup and insist he make Bruce’s coffee.

Pinching his brow, inhaling a calming breath, Bruce says, “I can manage to make my own coffee, thank you Cedric.” He swipes another cup and instantly feels ashamed of himself when Cedric gazes at him with terrified watery eyes, lowering his head, apologising for upsetting him.

“You didn’t upset me, please don’t worry.”he assures him. 

“I’m really sorry, sir...Um...Is there anything I can do for you?” Cedric mutters as he fidgets.

“No, thank you...and Bruce is fine, there’s no need to call me sir.”

Cedric squeaks a quick acknowledgment still referring to him as sir before he quickly dashes away. Bruce finishes his coffee and decides he’s in need of some fresh air, usually he’ll just head to the rooftop — but today he feels like a short walk before Jeremiah wakes.

—

Outside the air is frigid and refreshing. He clutches the coffee cup to keep his hands warmed as he walks down the steps that lead to the church entrance, his gaze sweeping the silent, dark street before him. 

Sometimes he missed the bustling activity and the crowds of people and traffic that once clogged up the city, nowadays it was far too quiet, too eerie...tonight the streets were even empty of Dark Zone dwellers enjoying their usual destructive activities.

Like terrorising opposing gangs of damning building and cars for no reason but boredom perhaps, some days Bruce was thankful he was untouchable especially when one wondered across a particularly nasty street gang and all he had to do was eye them before they scampered off with cries of:

“Hail Jeremiah!” To which Bruce would laugh, because wouldn’t Jeremiah simply love it when he returned and mentioned exactly how terrified even Gotham’s most vile street scum were of him. 

And Jeremiah, how he would lose an unhinged giggle that unnerved even Bruce occasionally, raising the hairs on the nape of his neck, but when Jeremiah took him into him his arms and waltzed around the area they occupied smiling wildly, doting kisses upon Bruce’s face— so happy and content and pleased the dwellers of his Zone knew exactly who was in charge, and knew not to touch even a single hair on Bruce’s Precious head — well, Bruce fell just a little more in love.

“Bruce…” Taken by utter surprise the coffee cup slips from his grip when Selina’s voice sounds behind him, he whirls around shaking off the scalding drops from his skin with a curse.

Selina laughs, “wow, so clumsy...did I scare you?” 

He shoots her a dark look before taking her by the arm and guiding her into the shadows, pressing closer to the shadowed buildings so they aren’t seen. 

“What are you doing here? It’s not safe to be out here.” He hisses quietly, eyes darting around, thankfully no one is in the near vicinity.

Selina rolls her eyes huffing, “ I can take care of myself, Bruce, and if it’s not safe why are you out here?”she counters eyes twinkling playfully, it’s hard for Bruce not fall back into routine with her.

“Oh, I’m safe enough.”he returns with a small smile, he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her. He liked Ecoo, she reminded Bruce of Selina sometimes — but it wasn’t the same as having his friend around — she gives him a mock punch in the shoulder grinning.

“Yes, I’ve heard that you’re pretty untouchable lately, Prince of the Dark Zone.” She teases and hooks her arm around his, “will you take a walk with me?”

He cringes at her use of the title, though he should be unsurprised such things had reached those in the Green Zone. Still, he feels the tinge of embarrassment as Selina nudges him with a teasing chuckle.

He hesitates glancing back towards the church, knowing Jeremiah will either already be awake or just waking up. He contemplates what the harm would be if he took just a short walk with Selina, it’s not like anyone posed a threat to him here, and Jeremiah has been extremely preoccupied of late with his newest, secret project.

A project Bruce has attempted to coax information about from him, from Ecco and even a few of Jeremiah’s acolytes only to be told its very secret and a surprise. A project Jeremiah was quite fixated on and would likely want to check on as soon as he wakes anyway.

So, he wouldn’t miss Bruce for a little while at least.

“Do you need to ask permission?”Selina asks, raising a brow.

He frowns, “what? No, from who?”

She offers a shrug, “I figured maybe you needed permission from king freak.” 

“I don’t need permission from anyone, especially not Jeremiah, I’m not a prisoner Selina.”he snaps darkly, pulling his arm free.

“Sorry, I...I just miss you.” Guilt floods through him and he sighs.

“I know, so where am I walking you to?”

“I’m heading back to the Green Zone, so can you walk as far as the border?”

“Sure.” She hooks her arms around his again with a bright smile, and as they walk block after block through the Dark Zone, something starts to niggle at him — Selina is far too chatty, even for her — perhaps he was being paranoid. But Bruce knew Selina Kyle well enough by now to recognise her small ticks, how she seems to acquire verbal diarrhea - as Ivy once referred to it— when nervous, like now for example.

He realises they’ve already crossed most of the Dark Zone and they are quite far away from where the church is located, they are so very close to the border that separates Zones — Scarecrow’s territory is this close to the border— seeing as he acted as border control for Jeremiah, reporting movements of denizens of the Green Zone to Ecco.

Selina is still pulling him along with her and trepidation licks down his spine, because something is definitely off and it’s starting to feel like he’s being led into a trap, he really cursed himself for being too trusting.

“Selina?”he urges her to stop, she glances at him tilting her head, but her eyes slide to his right and he follows her gaze, it takes a few moments before his vision focuses on what she’s looking at. As a sharp stinging pain hits his neck and he lifts his hands to clutch the spot.

“Sorry, Master B, this is for your own good.”

Bruce yanks his arm from Selina and swings around to face Alfred with a snarl, his body begins to feel incredibly heavy, his vision swims dizingly, nausea rolls over him as Alfred’s image splits and twists like when you looked through a kaleidoscope. 

“What...I don’t...Alfred…” he loses focus and balance feeling detached from his own body stumbling, falling forward into Alfred’s outstretched arms.

“Sorry, mate.”

“Se...lin...na” he manages to choke out before darkness swallows him and he slips into oblivion.


	2. My Dark Disquiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the chapter count has gone up and I can’t promise it won’t rise again, since the initial inspiration for this story: let’s just say my mind has spiralled quite a bit.
> 
> Warnings: violence, mentions of blood and character death, mental and emotional distress.
> 
> Bruce I’m sorry, I love you really!
> 
> Note: I have combed through this for days now, correcting and tweaking etc so much I drove myself nuts. So please excuse any errors because my eyes now burn 😆 
> 
> Enjoy!

**  
My Dark Disquiet.**

  
  


Selina was anxious pacing back and forth beside the single bed where Bruce lay, thick ropes securing him in place. Bound like an animal and for the first time she wondered if Alfred was doing the right thing.

When he’d come to her with the proposal for his plan, all she’d been able to think of was having her friend back, but after seeing Bruce tonight, talking with him — slipping into easy conversation — like old times, she realised Bruce was still the friend she’d grown to love.

He didn’t seem like he’s been twisted and changed. In fact, if she could place a label to how her friend seemed — she’d say he was comfortable, even happy. So now guilt gnawed at her insides as she watched the unmoving figure on the bed.

He wasn’t waking up.

Two hours had passed by since Alfred stuck the needle into his neck — since Bruce sank into oblivion with her name on his lips. Her gut screamed that something was wrong because nobody slept so still. It reminded her of the story her mother used to read.

Where a young princess eats a poison apple and falls into a sleep-like death. Or another story with yet another princess — where she pricked her finger on a spindle, cursed to sleep until true love’s kiss broke the spell. Selina chewed at her lip, leaning closer to inspect her friend. 

His ordinarily pale skin seemed to gleam with a pasty yellow tinge. The rise and fall of his chest was slight, hardly visible unless she closely examined. He was lying so, so still that it frightened her.

Something was wrong. Whatever that syringe contained certainly wasn’t a simple sedative. She felt sick as her heart drummed and fear flooded her... she called to Alfred, her voice thick with worry.

“Is he awake?” Alfred asked, entering the room, eyes turning to the bed. His expression falls when his eyes land on Bruce.

“No Alfred, something’s not right — he should be awake by now.” Selina, not usually ruled by her emotions, felt tears burn her eyes as genuine fear laced her veins.

She had done this; it was her fault because she hadn’t questioned Magpie on where she’d found the sedative, blindly she’d trusted the thief’s word and put Bruce’s life in danger. A small sound escapes her lips, and she swings her gaze to Alfred.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” Her voice is small, lacking her usual confidence and bravado.

Alfred closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and strolls forward, as he too inspects Bruce’s state noticing his off skin colour, the eerie stillness. Panic seizes him as clarity returns, he’d been so caught up, so desperate to save his boy — though it seemed the only one responsible for putting him in danger was Alfre himself.

He’d acted selfishly dragging Selina into this too. His hands tremble as he balls his fists.

“Where did you get the sedative, Selina?” his voice harsh, anger thick, not directed at Selina but at himself. 

“I... I called in a favour from a thief, Magpie, she...she didn’t say where she’d found it. I didn’t think to ask…” she backs away from the still figure on the bed, her eyes turning hard and icy.

“Selina?”

“I need to find Magpie,” she whispers, her eyes returning to Bruce, “find out exactly where she got the sedative or whatever it was... I’ll try not to be long.” and she hurries from the room without another word or glance. 

Alfred takes a seat beside the bed, holding onto Bruce’s cool hand with his larger one. Recalling how he used to do this exact act after his parents died, when Bruce cried until he slipped into a fitful sleep. He acted with such recklessness, putting his boy’s life in danger.

“... Mi...ah…” Alfred jumped at Bruce’s strained voice, sounding slurred and heavy. Calling the very name Alfred loathed. He remained by his side, clutching his hand, muttering apologies over and over, blinking back the sting of tears.

Because what right did Alfred have to cry when he’d caused this mess? 

The silence is again broken as Bruce screams, a terrifying sound of anguish that makes Alfed feel sick to his stomach. Bruce begins to twist and thrash around and he attempts to keep the boy from injuring himself against the ropes holding him in place.

For the first time in his life, Alfed doesn’t know what to do or how to fix this. 

  
  


—-

—-

  
  


Bruce groans his body feeling stiff and achy, at his back a chill seeps into his skin, as if he were laying on damp ground — he opens his heavy eyes his vision blurry before it slowly focused, above him thick rolling grey clouds gather in the sky, the longer looks the more he finds he could make out little shapes forming, a small dog here, a chicken egg shaped cloud there — a game he actually used to play with his parents as a child, when they would lay on the grass in the manor grounds on a cloudy day, staring up at the sky to find how many shapes they could each see.

His heart twists at the memory, and he turns his eyes away from the thick rolling clouds. Bruce frowns, wondering where he is and how he’d ended up laying on the cold, damp ground.

Had he collapsed on his walk through the Dark Zone?

No, no, he recalled bumping into Selina, the coffee cup falling to the ground because she’d snuck up on him. He remembered agreeing to walk her to the border between zones and something else had transpired, but his head was achy, fuzzy, unable to recall the memory with crystal clarity that made any sense to his current situation.

Using his elbows as leverage, Bruce pushes himself to a sitting position, casting his eyes around at his surroundings, hoping to make sense of his situation. Where was he? How did he get here?

The sight that greets him only causes further confusion as panic rises to the surface because he recognises nothing of his surroundings: wherever the hell Bruce had ended up was not Gotham City, of that much he was certain. 

He turns one hundred and eighty degrees to figure out what the hell is going on. And when he catches sight of the sky again, the grey rolling clouds are no longer grey, but lilac with a dusting of pink. As if hours had passed by in the mere minutes he stood trying to work things out, and he hadn’t noticed time slipping away. 

Would it be nightfall soon? 

Bruce feels a little nauseous, his bewilderment increasing.

He stands shakily, his legs feeling unsteady, his balance off. Swaying Bruce glances at his surrounds; he is in a long hallway of what appears to be dark walls that upon closer inspection he sees are made up of black mirrors; the edges framed by silver like trimming- he steps closer to one side of mirror -wall — noting it rises high into the sky, there was no way to climb up and look over — gingerly he touches the surface with a finger and the dark substance ripples like water, the texture feels oily, but doesn’t stick to his finger when he pulls away. Panic seizes him, and he stumbles away turning his head rapidly in each direction of the seemingly never-ending hallway. 

As Bruce stands soaking in his surroundings, watching the ripples in the mirror wall as they settle and eventually still. The memory of how he came to be here comes rushing back, Selina had led him into another trap and this time the very people he called family, the people he loved — people he had done nothing but sacrifice everything for, again and again and again had done this to him.

He feels a phantom pain in his neck, in the spot where Alfred had stuck him with a needle before his entire world had turned black. Bruce had experienced something similar twice before; once during his time with the Shaman — when he’d been taken against his will by the Court Of Owls, the Shaman had created visions within Bruce’s mind and he recalled when Ivy poisoned him, her toxin inducing terrifying hallucinations.

It gave him the sense to realise this was perhaps a hallucination, induced by whatever Alfred had injected him with. 

Or else he’d fallen down a rabbit hole like in the fairy tale his mother loved to read to him as a child. Was Bruce like Alice now? Transported to a world of black mirrors — a shiver runs through him. 

No, he’s almost certain this is a hallucination or else he’s descended into madness.

Picking a direction at random he tracks along the long mirror hall, the hairs on his neck standing at attention, he swears he hears unintelligible whispers all around, a few times from the corner of his sight Bruce thinks he sees eyes watching him, following his movements from within the liquid mirrors.

A shiver runs the length of his spine, and he hurries his pace. Pulling his jacket tighter around him as if it brings extra security. More and more, as he passes the dark surfaces of the mirror walls, he thinks he sees images forming as he passes.

Twisted people, their bodies elongated in length, sometimes stretched in width, the shapes filling the entire mirror's surface. Faces flash here and there occasionally with eyes or mouths or noses far too large and bulging; similar to the mirrors at a carnival that distort someone’s reflection. 

‘Bruce... Bruce…’ 

He stills standing frozen, glancing around he cannot tell how far he’s even walked, everything looks the same, with no turn-offs — he’s certain he must have been walking for over an hour, the whispers are becoming clearer now, his name on the wind echoing after him. 

“Hello?” he calls, finally having had enough. He walks along stealing glimpses from the edge of his sight, hoping to catch the flickering images he thinks he’s seen, his head throbbing, being alone in such a strange place is leaving him on edge.

Walking on, passing black surface after black surface soon becomes old and frustration settles over him, until he spots something, a tiny difference in the wall he’s just passed, backtracking he walks by it several times more to be sure what he’s noticed is correct. Turning to face the mirror pane opposite — taking a few hesitant steps he walks towards it, holding his breath. If he’s wrong, he's worried he’ll fall into the liquid surface but if he’s right; this should lead him onto a fresh path. He wouldn’t have noticed were it not for the slight difference to the silvery frame, it was just slightly thicker.

He briefly thinks of Jeremiah, how he would love such a complex illusion, more likely he knew how to create such a complex maze system anyway. 

Tentatively Bruce steps closer, finding himself in another hallway of mirrors, unsure how many turns he’s already missed because of the optical illusion. He sets off again, this time keeping a closer eye on the walls. Four turns later he finds himself in near darkness, at a dead-end facing another rippling mirror. 

Two options lay before him: one, turn around, head back the way he came and find another turn off, or two, follow his intuition and walk into the mirror — because it niggles at him that when the mirrors ripple, he might pass through them. Like doorways, with the ability to transport him somewhere else. This was a hallucination, or at least a conjuring of his mind, after all, so it seemed likely no harm would come to him physically. 

Swallowing his nerves he approaches the rippling dark liquid, touching first with his fingers before pushing a palm forward. A deep cold envelope’s him as he pushes through, and he steps out into a darkened alleyway.

A very familiar alleyway.

A place he wishes to never see again because it’s the very last place he saw his parents alive and laughing as they made their way home. He covers his mouth with a trembling hand, as his eyes settle on the still bodies lying on the ground — their unseeing eyes turned skyward. Everything about the scene is the same, from the puddles on the ground to the blood pooling around Martha and Thomas, even the pearls from his mother’s necklace scattered upon the ground.

Feeling like his twelve-year-old self, his reactions and emotions still as raw as the fateful day. He falls to his knees between them, hands moving to his father's chest in a sick echo. He can’t breathe, and the drumming of his heart rattles his ribs. It feels so real even here, even though he knows the scene of fabricated… an illusion, an echo of what has already transpired — the blood thick and slick on his palms, the fading warmth of his father's body — he knows it isn’t real, he does, but all the feelings Bruce felt as a child rush back, he’ll never forget the fear, the pain or the tearing of his heart as Thomas and Martha died before his eyes.

Tormented anew Bruce Wayne screams, a chilling raw sound of anguish — the echo of it filling the space. Tears spill down his cheeks and he can’t breathe, his throat tightens, he can’t look any more, can’t bear it, and suddenly, he’s up on his feet, and he runs, runs, runs from the scene because there’s a ripple at the end of the alleyway, and he just can’t stand to be here any more.

Wherever he was, whatever was happening to him was intent on torturing him… perhaps Alfred thought to drive him mad?

Rushing through the rippling scenery, Bruce slips forward too fast into another scene, another nightmare he’ll never forget — a vision of himself as he stands before Alfred and plunges a sword through his chest, as blood froths and bubbles from Alfred’s lips.

Bruce clutches the sides of his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He doesn’t want to see any more, he can’t. Pain slices through his skull and his pulse throbs loudly in his ears. 

He feels sick and bends forward to empty the contents of his stomach.

There’s another ripple just ahead, without thought he doesn’t hesitate to run for it, passing through the thick oily substance to escape the horror he’s being forced to witness once again, scene after scene he runs through, some are memories he’s already lived, events he’ll never forget — atrocities he’s committed himself or those committed by others — he ploughs through vision after vision, some bloody and gory; each scene drenched in chaos and death. 

Other scenes are so twisted and vile, truly horrific, they cause Bruce’s stomach to twist with nausea. He bears witness to the deaths of his family and friends one by one, Selina; he finds her falling from a tall building, blood pooled around her in a halo — glassy eyes staring into him — her body twisted in unnatural angles.

  
  


The brunette wonders if he’ll slowly go insane watching these images as he slips through the mirrors to escape one sickening scene after the other. His heart drums wildly, palms slick with sweat, his head pounding as the minutes pass by.

He stumbles onto a rooftop close to the edge and automatically looks down, a scream ripping his throat when his eyes land upon Jeremiah’s lifeless body, twisted and broken in a torturous echo of Jerome’s death. And he knows it’s not real, but seeing the man he loves broken and lifeless before his eyes brings Bruce to his knees.

His body trembling as he holds back anguished sobs building in his chest, he can’t go on like this anymore…

“It’s what he deserves.” To his right, Jim Gordon appears, looking down upon the scene below.

“No, no, no.” he tugs at his hair, shaking his head in disagreement. “Not real, not real...it’s not real”

“Are you certain, Bruce?” Ra’s Al Ghul speaks, appearing from within a ripple, his eyes scorching him. “It appears very real to me, such a tragic end...or is this a new beginning.”

“Go away!” Bruce snarls at the two of them, his eyes burning coals, anger coiling to the surface. His heart is tearing to pieces every time he glances down, touching upon the sight of Jeremiah’s broken, twisted form. 

Dark laughter fills the air as Ra’s steps forward, “You are destined to lose everything you love.”

That wasn’t true.

It simply wasn’t...

Bruce wouldn’t accept that. He takes a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from the scene below, resisting the snarl curling his lips as people gather around Jeremiah’s body, laughing and cheering — their filthy hands clawing at him.

Ra’s Al Ghul follows the brunette’s line of sight, a smile tugging at his lips, “you cannot escape destiny Bruce.” Bruce stands frozen under his piercing gaze — his limbs locked, “you will become as you are meant to be. You will embrace destiny, or I will destroy that which you love most.” His gaze trails down, to the street below them settling on Jeremiah’s lifeless form, “this is but a taste, Bruce.”

“No, NO.” Anger, red-hot and burning courses through him, and he pushes the form of Ra’s Al Ghul in the chest forcing him to stumble 

Enabling Bruce to twist around glowering at the form of Jim Gordon, observing the exchange — his eyes burning with anger darting behind the man, and through the tears staining his cheeks, Bruce catches a glimpse, to the right of Jim, another ripple appearing in the space. Without thought, without hesitation Bruce runs towards it — his form swallowed by the thick tarry black liquid that nearly chokes him, gasping for air he finds himself thrown roughly into the concrete.

—-

_ ‘Gotham falls, and we rise...together.’ _

“... Miah?” Bruce opens his eyes as Jeremiah’s voice echos around him in the atmosphere, in the air, in the sound of the wind. He finds himself in a maze of buildings, buildings he recognises from Gotham’s skyline, once standing tall and proud, now lay ruined to create a maze in the city itself — as Jeremiah had once sworn to create, a Kingdom befitting a Mad king and his Dark Prince. 

_ ‘Bruce...you’re a good friend, I’m very glad to have met you.’ _

  
  


He remembered the exchange between them in Jeremiah’s bunker, before he revealed everything in the cemetery. The words were a whisper of the conversation, muffled as if coming from so very far away and from every direction all at once. 

But he didn’t care as he lay there staring into the darkening sky, hoping with bated breath to just hear Jeremiah’s voice again like an addict waiting for his next fix.

_ ‘You complete me Bruce, utterly, irrevocably.’ _

He bites his lip imagining the way Jeremiah would pepper him with kisses, holding him so closely, so tightly as if afraid Bruce would slip away or vanish. 

_ ‘I love you more than you could ever know.’  _

The words caused his heart to flutter, watching the sky steadily darken, Bruce smiles “I love you too.” No longer caring how deranged he may look, he just wanted to bathe in the sound of Jeremiah’s voice, so he continued looking into the sweeping darkness craving the sound of that voice, as it kept him afloat, chipping and chasing away the terror Bruce had felt thus far, the anguish of seeing Jeremiah so broken, so still with death, relieving the death of his parents and every other horror he stumbles across. 

_ ‘I will never let you go.’  _

He waited wanting more and more and more, but after spending too long waiting — his voice faded away and did not return again, leaving Bruce feeling hollow and chilled to the bone. Still he waited minutes, hours...perhaps even days more — time seemed to run strangely here — to hear the voice he craved — but once certain Jeremiah’s soothing voice would no longer join the whispering breeze, Bruce regained some semblance of mind lifting himself from the ground to observe the fallen buildings around him.

His observations of the fallen metropolis is interrupted as a silhouette ambles into view and Silver St. Cloud steps from between fallen debris smiling at him softly, sweetly, “hello Bruce... I have something for you if you’ll accept it.” From the pocket of her shimmering dress she withdraws a ripened peach, extends it in offering to him. He blinks confused, “eat this Bruce, and you’ll be free of this place…”

Furrowing his brow Bruce edges closer to inspect the offering, desperation to escape this nightmare claws at his reason, he knows if he spends a moment longer in this place he’ll lose his mind, already the scratchy claws of confusion gnaw at him, he’s not sure whether he is in fact trapped with a hallucination, or the madness of his mind.

Had he finally lost his mind?

Nothing makes sense — being a forced observer to his greatest fears was surely stripping him of his balance of mind. 

“What will happen if I eat it?” He asks gingerly, brushing a thumb over the soft flesh of the fruit. 

Silver’s smiles, her eyes sparkling, her expression open and earnest as she answers, a sweet tinkling voice “it will take you home, of course…” she drops the soft, plump fruit in his open, waiting palm, retreating backwards a few steps.

Home.

Bruce wanted to go home...he wished he’d chosen to stay in bed with Jeremiah this morning instead of rising to make a coffee and take a walk. 

Was it only this morning?

It felt as if he’d been wondering about this nightmare for days now. 

‘Home’ the word echoed in his mind as he eyed the peach. Worse case scenario it would be laced with poison, or he’d be forced to witness further horrific visions. If there was even a slight chance of escaping this place, of going home… to Jeremiah then he’d take it. Slowly Bruce lifts the peach to his mouth, his eyes lifting to Silver — she nods smiling encouragingly, almost over eager — so slowly His lips close over the peach, his teeth piercing the delicate soft flesh, juice sprays and dribbles down his chin.

A great splintering crack splits across the sky as Bruce chews and swallows the first bite, the taste sweet and bitter on his tongue. Silver is watching avidly — her smile is too wide, too unnatural, unnerving...

And he wonders if he’s made a mistake in his haste, in his wistful, pining need to return to Jeremiah’s side — to shower him with kisses and clutch him tightly close.

Cracks and splinters extend across the scene cross crossing like a sliders web, Bruce is hypnotised by Silver’s intense gaze -her eyes look to be glowing almost and Bruce can’t tear his gaze away as he takes another bite and another and another until the scenery shatters all around him.

Shards of broken glass raining down from the sky around him, cutting through the image of Silver until only Bruce remains, all alone in a tempest of glittering glass. 

Dizzy and nauseous, as the world falls down around him.


	3. Do you wanna start a war?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah isn’t happy, Ecco is worried, Lee is concerned and Jim is being stubborn.

**  
So you wanna start a war? **

  
  


How his world had been ripped asunder, shattering into a thousand pieces, the very foundations crumbling beneath his feet hearing three little words.

“Bruce is missing.”

Missing... torn from him his arms of safety, the single most terrifying experience of his life, waiting, waiting, waiting for Ecco to return with news, from her search of the Dark Zone. Jeremiah remained numb — his thoughts tumbling over one another with horrific imaginings.

His torrent of fears were confirmed upon Ecco’s return hours, days...later? Time had little meaning without the centre of his world. No not just his world, his universe, his heart, his every breath, his everything... Bruce was the very sustenance he needed to survive.

Without him...

Jeremiah couldn’t possibly imagine it. Refused to imagine such a terrible thing. Because he would not stand for, would not allow Bruce to be taken from him. Admittedly, it had taken Jeremiah a few hours to process the news as his very heart splintered, his emotions broiling to the surface in uncontrollable waves, and perhaps he'd taken his rise of temper out on a few unsuspecting workers in the basement below.

An action he regretted soon after because it meant the progress on the digging the tunnel would be slower... it simply must be completed for Bruce’s return.

Because he would return home, to Jeremiah, no matter how long it took him to scour the city, the world if necessary — Bruce. Would. Return — he would search and search and search until his very last breath if to locate the keeper of his heart. His fingers curl into fists as he awaits for Ecco’s return, ruminating on a single repetitive thought: Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. 

—

—

  
  


A whole twenty-four hours had passed since Bruce was rendered unconscious, helpless, likely suffering a horrific ordeal.

Because of her, because of Alfred. They had done this to him, and she wouldn’t blame Bruce if he hated her because of it, if he ever woke up.

God, please wake up! She thinks desperately. 

As the hours pass by, and he screams himself hoarse, Selina is starting to worry he’d never wake. She didn’t know what to do to help her friend.

Selina had seriously screwed up, having sought out Magpie only to learn the thief had stolen the supposed sedative from Scarecrows territory — which lead Selina to conclude it was some form of fear toxin, and short of waltzing into Scarecrows stronghold she had no idea if there existed a cure or whether Bruce would simply come around once the toxin released from his system. 

She could hardly conjure images of the horrors he must be facing — for she had little doubt he would suffer some form of nightmares. Having returned to inform Alfred, who had the audacity to blame this whole mess upon her shoulders before promptly scooping Bruce into his arms and leaving the building.

“Where are you taking him?” She calls after the man. She can sense his fear and desperation as he clutches Bruce close.

“To the hospital, to Lee...to anyone who can help.” His voice is thick with emotion.

Without hesitation, she strolls up to one of the parked cars, fingers crossed the battery hasn’t gone dead, breaking the window with her elbow. She opens the door, sweeping the broken glass away. “Let’s get him in the back.” Wasting time walking would do no good, Bruce needed help now — she just prayed there was some way to lessen the toxin’s effects.

—-

Ecco is hesitant to enter the room in which she knows Jeremiah is situated, twenty-four hours having passed since Bruce vanished, with only the account of one acolyte to confirm he’d made a coffee and taken a walk beyond the confines of sanctuary, Ecco had, of course, scouted the area and discovered the scattered remains of the Bruce’s cup.

With little information to go on and no reported sightings, she had organised a search party to scour the Dark Zone: still no sight, no trace of Bruce, and she was frankly worried. Knowing with a deep certainty he wouldn’t just leave… he’d been with them for nearly six months, and he was happy here, with them, with Jeremiah.

Bruce was one of them, part of their family.

And frankly she had never seen Jeremiah as content as he was with Bruce, they completed one another more than they perhaps realised. Having a front row view to their relationship as she did, Ecco couldn’t deny the bond, the love they shared. 

Jeremiah was calmer, tamer with Bruce by his side. 

She could hear his quiet mutterings from her position outside the door. She recalled the destruction Jeremiah had left upon the news Bruce was missing, and she wished to never see, nor be responsible for cleaning up anything like that again.

The bodies littering the basement floor had been mutilated beyond recognition. Jeremiah stood among the carnage blood soaked, panting and utterly devastated without Bruce.

She hadn’t seen him like that in a long, long time. Not since before the bridges collapsed.

Twenty-four hours ago, many acolytes had lost their lives, the workers Jeremiah had instructed to dig his tunnel were now down four members, thankfully she had plenty of men willing to step up and take their place — and she had managed to coax Jeremiah from the basement to his room.

A small mercy she could offer to those working below.

She did, however, have an update having received word of a known Green Zone dweller sighted in the Dark Zone, sighted loitering around the sanctuary around the right time frame Bruce disappeared. And she had no doubt they were in some form, responsible for his disappearance. 

She had followed the lead with the team she’d put together to conduct the search, following the information that led her to the border between zones, hours had been spent searching the buildings nearby but all they found was an empty apartment that looked to have been used recently, in one of the bedrooms there had been evidence of use and ropes present, as if to bind someone in place upon the bed.

She didn’t want to believe the possibility that Bruce had been bound to that bed, but she couldn’t refute the evidence staring her in the face. Another curious find had been an empty syringe dropped carelessly on the ground a few paces from the building. 

Now she had to relay this information to Jeremiah, informing him that it was quite possible Bruce had been drugged and taken by those he looked to as friends. For all the evidence she’d gathered it seemed highly likely Bruce had been taken into the Green Zone.

Inhaling a deep breath she pushed the door and entered the room, her eyes landing on Jeremiah, pacing back and forth murmuring quietly to the air, his hair unkempt as if he’d been pulling on it repeatedly. He was a mess, in a far worse state than she thought he’d be. Usually, so composed to the point of chilling, she knew before she even announced her presence he was unlikely to take her update well.

She almost turned back, almost crept through the door intending to storm the Green Zone herself, perhaps with Scarecrow or Tetch to get Bruce back. Because she knew with absolute surety when she told Jeremiah what she knew.

He would unleash hell upon the Green Zone, he would be an unstoppable force until Bruce was returned to him. 

She made the silent move to exit the room but Jeremiah’s voice caused her to still.

“You have news, Ecco...where is Bruce?”

Clearing her throat she reaches into her pocket to withdraw the used syringe, “I believe Bruce may have been drugged and taken into the Green Zone...there’s evidence he was held in a building located at the border.” She flinches when sea green eyes burn into her.

Flooded with so much churning emotion it’s hard to pick on out among the many swirling there. 

“Drugged? Held hostage? My precious Bruce?” 

She swallows but nods holding out the syringe, “we found this on the road, ropes attached to a bed in one of the buildings...confirmed sightings of two... Green Zone dwellers.” She refrains from naming them, but knows he’ll demand the answer anyway. And she won’t deny him the knowledge regardless of the consequences.

She would deny him nothing if he asked it of her. 

“What is in that syringe.” He demands stepping closer to inspect. He reaches out his gloved hand trembling. 

“I can’t be certain, my guess would be a sedative.” The knowledge hurts her also, she likes Bruce, the shadow that obscures Jeremiah’s face is frightening, and she flinches as his gaze slides between her face and the object in her hands.

His eyes stray on the syringe, his silence stretching, his mind working, she knew, it was always working that mind of his. 

He didn’t say anything for so, so long that Ecco thought he might be frozen, his eyes shuttered his expression closing off, this, this reaction had been what she’d both foreseen and feared and when he turned away from her, dismissing her with a wave of his hand — she lingered outside the door.

Despite the unease filling her, she would not abandon him, refusing to leave him alone to envision nightmarish scenes of what was happening to Bruce. So, she stayed and waited and waited…

And waited.

——

Jeremiah cannot stop pacing, his heart beating, pounding, so furiously he feels it may burst from the confines of his ribs. It aches and tears him slowly to pieces as genuine, terrifying fear creeps into every pore of his being —- far worse than he feared, Bruce wasn’t simply missing he’d been drugged.

Drugged!! Taken by force and hidden somewhere Jeremiah could not reach him. What if he was harmed, hurting somewhere Jeremiah could not take him into his embrace and comfort him and kiss away the pain. Anger, white-hot and raging flares to life. 

This act by Green Zone dwellers was nothing if not an act of war. 

“Ecoo.” his voice was soft, deadly. He knew she would not leave him to solitude — sensed her waiting outside the door for his call. Next to Bruce she knew him best, perhaps even better than Bruce in some regards. 

The sigh of her garments brushing the floor alerted him to her presence, such a stealthy creature his Ecco, loyal beyond measure. 

“Boss?” 

“Make the call...summon everyone.” Such simple words caused a shiver of trepidation to slither down Ecco’s spine. But she lowered her head in acknowledgement and slipped from the room.

His mind set, his course of action mapped out, every whispered promise he’s ever made to Bruce rushing over him, every promise that now lay broken at his feet like shattered glass the splinters cutting into him, the pain souring on his wrath and fury with each passing moment. 

The silence and his thoughts were interrupted moments later by three clear notes of a bell chiming, three chimes for the summoning of every Dark Zone dweller, two chimes would ring to summon the entire faction of his acolytes and one chime would call for only his most loyal followers to congregate.

Every Dark Zone dweller knew what the calling of the bells meant, and they would come, they would not defy his summons. 

—

All throughout the Dark Zone the deep chiming call sounded shattering the stillness that usually lay over the district. 

All activity ceased as people came to a standstill, stealing glances at each other: they all knew what three chimes meant. 

As the call sounded, a summoning to the Church of Jeremiah, each gang abandoned whatever they were doing at that moment, the leaders gathering each of their members to assemble.

Every gang: The Mutants, The Soothsayers, The Undead, The Mad Hatter and his hypnotized Chessmen and finally the deep chime reached Scarecrow and his gang, his number one Scag calling each member to attention.

The call could even be heard as far as the edge of the Green Zone and turned a few heads, drew a few whispered curiosities as they drew eyebrows in wonder.

Wondering why church bells were ringing and what it could mean. 

  
  


—-

Lee Gordon couldn’t believe the state Bruce Wayne had been brought to her in, his stats were all over the place, heart rate exceptionally high, blood pressure also rising to dangerous levels. She and the doctor had hooked him up to an IV to get fluids into him to flush the toxin from his system, the worry was of course that twenty-four hours had now passed and the toxin was already in Bruce’s blood stream.

Alfred sat at his bedside and Selina paced before the end of his bed having relayed the information she’d gathered from Magpie. Jim was on route to the hospital having insisted on checking in on Barbara before he headed over.

Bruce unleashes another blood-curdling scream, his body convulsing, they’d had to strap him down, so he didn’t end up hurting himself. It tore at Lee’s heart to see him in his way, and she felt a rush of anger at Alfred’s irresponsible and rash actions. 

Her phone tinkled, disrupting her thoughts and she clicked the button lifting the device to her ear.

“Jim?”

“How is he?” She could hear the worry thick in his voice.

“We’ve made him as comfortable as possible, but all we can do is wait for the toxin to leave his system…” another hoarse scream sounds this time calling a name they all knew. 

“Is that…?”

Her voice trembled, “I’m afraid so, we believe he’s suffering toxin induced hallucinations.” 

“Like what happened to Johnathan Crane before…”

Yes, she thought, thinking back to that poor tortured boy driven mad by the toxin his father had administered to him. “I’m not sure what lasting effects this might have on him, mentally, I mean.” She adds in a whisper turning away from Alfred and Selina. “He’s been calling for Jeremiah on and off for hours now Jim, I hate to say this but…”

“NO. Absolutely not, Lee.” She grimaced at the sharpness in his tone, “I just think if he could hear Jeremiah’s voice, it could potentially sooth him.” A reckless idea but with his stats so dangerously high and drug management not an option when they couldn’t even analyse the toxin and potential dangers of adding more drugs to the mix. “His body is under an enormous strain and I can offer no insight into the mental struggle he’s potentially going through.” There was a real worry that Bruce could suffer a cardiac arrest at some point. 

Her gut feeling niggled a warning that they should at least try and reach out to Jeremiah, knowing how unpredictable, unstable he could be. Lee was sure he wouldn’t take Bruce’s disappearance lightly — Jim, ever hard-headed and clearly thinking of the safety of everyone in the Green Zone, adamantly refused even the notion of reaching out to Jeremiah Valeska.

If she wasn’t so concerned for Bruce Wayne’s well-being, if he didn’t appear to be in such dangerous territory she might have suggested they return him to the Dark Zone, to Jeremiah — as things stood, there was a high possibility from her medical prospective that Bruce might not make it through this and even if he did, the impact on his mental well-being remained an unknown.

She hangs up on Jim, he promises he’ll arrive as soon as possible, but she is feeling frustrated and powerless.

There is nothing more she can do for Bruce Wayne except watch and wait. 

But...the feeling gnawing at her that something bad was going to happen, wouldn’t leave her, she would try one more time to speak with Jim. 

Before Jeremiah Valeska could come looking for Bruce assuming he hadn’t already begun his search.


	4. My love, my friend, I can’t live without you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce find himself in a star of confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very pleased with this chapter, I enjoyed writing it so much. And tried to paint the picture in my head with words.
> 
> ❤️

**My love, my friend,**

**I can’t live without you.**

  
  
  


Shafts of gentle luminosity catch the specks of sand: the remains of shattered glass, providing the effect of glitter raining down around him, Bruce blinks, raising his face to the sky before glancing around at his location. Powerless to recollect where he is, unsure of what is happening, it gnaws at him, he must do something, something vital, but virtually as quickly the gnawing feeling surfaces, he cannot grasp into it. He squints a second time finding himself standing before a tall dress mirror — observing his reflection he furrows his eyebrow, he's dressed up in a suit and tie, his hair combed as if he's preparing to attend. He doesn't remember making any arrangements.

What had he been doing before this moment?

It’s as if he’s suddenly woken from a daydream.

“Are you ready Bruce, we’ll be late.” he recognises that voice, it belongs to Grace. Tearing his gaze away from the mirror, Bruce leaves the room, trailing the hallways of Wayne Manor to find Tommy and Grace waiting for him in the study. Feeling light-headed, he acknowledges them with a small smile.

“It's about time Bruce, we’re going to be late for the party if we don’t go soon.” Tommy mutters, irritated. 

“The… party?” he questions bemused, gaze moving between the two of them, they shoot each other looks — Tommy shrugs pulling out his phone while Grace walks over taking Bruce's arm.

She's concerned, “are you okay?” Her tone is gentle, her eyes searching him over from head to toe.

It's an excellent question, Bruce thinks, scrunching his eyebrows. In all sincerity, he was feeling as confused as Grace looked. She brushes his arm to attract back his focus because he’s become far away, thinking, thinking, thinking... he’s positive he’s forgotten something significant. Though again nothing comes to mind, or at least nothing he can grip onto. Tommy announces that the cab will arrive soon, then breaks out a bottle of champagne suggesting they have a glass beforehand.

Bruce declines, already feeling off kilter, in a daze, as if something isn’t entirely right... he just cannot place his finger on it. What had he been doing before discovering himself standing before the mirror?

Grace bites her bottom lip, “maybe we should give tonight a miss.” she looks between Bruce and Tommy, her concern evident. She’s spotted something is off with Bruce.

Tommy however either hasn’t acknowledged or doesn’t care. 

Tommy scoffs gulping down a glass of bubbly, “he’ll be fine, won’t you Bruce? He drank too much last night, he just requires a slight pick me up.” Grace still doesn’t look assured, but Tommy extends a glass to Bruce, he tries to decline again however Tommy’s persistence has him picking up the glass, feigning to draw little sips.

Not that Tommy takes considerable notice, anyhow.

It all plays out so very dreamlike — ten minutes later they are pulling up to the club they haunt, but the streets of Gotham are clear, hushed, even the traffic non-existent. No traces of crowds milling about the streets, occupying the vacant restaurants, clubs and bars. A chiming sounds loud to Bruce’s ears, a clock chiming one, two, three... the solid pounding, ringing in his skull like a visceral pain.

“Bruce... come on.” Grace takes him by the hand, tugging him along with her. Something catches his view from the side street, and he draws himself loose from her grip. She doesn’t look to notice as she enters the club without him.

His steps echo around him, his eyes attracted to the peculiar shapes appearing in the shady side street — he blinks once, twice, three times before the impression becomes clearer, sharper, more focused.

A silver framed obsidian mirror shimmies into view as the surface looks to swallow light itself, lustrous and glossy — he walks closer, closer, closer, pale fingers outstretched, practically to touching distance. The surface ripples like when a drop of rain strikes the surface of a pond, it glistens as a picture swims into focus... his reflection.

Nothing more, nothing less, he’s not positive what he expected and feels foolish. A shimmer distorts the images, and it slants and reforms, it’s still his reflection, but he’s dressed differently. His suit is exquisitely tailored and darkest black with gold trim along the pleats of his jacket, the tunic beneath is grey silk finished with a deep blue tie, the mask adorning his pale face, likewise black, was of a bat in flight, the wings fanning across his cheeks, the material moulding to the curves, the tip of the wings resting above his jawline. He raises his palm to touch at his face, the image mimics the action — but he feels no mask against his skin.

Curious, and trancelike Bruce touches the mirror surface, the material feels like thick oil and horror seizes him when it passes to advance across his fingers, up over his palms and along his arms — pulling away he gasps at the icy bite as black oil covers his full frame, he screams or thinks he does, but the liquid glides across his tongue, slithering down his throat until he’s choking clutching at his tightening throat, he considers he should have just followed Grace into the club. Always ending up in situations because of his curiosity — isn’t that what killed the cat? — he feels the increasing chill cascading over his entire form and for a flash, he acknowledges he might die until abruptly, it diminishes, the chill and heavy oil retreating, slinking backwards slithering away from his skin, merging back into the mirror’s surface like a scene rewinding...in fascination, in a frightened silence, with great dry heaves as it glides back up his throat— he follows the last beads of liquid returning to complete the rippling surface of the mirror. 

He’s breathing is ragged, the banging of his heart roaring in his ears, his body trembled as his eyes affixed to the mirror.

His limbs trembling he stands noticing first the quality of his attire seems different, snug, delicate against his skin, he lifts a hand feeling at his face and there, around his eyes over his nose, fanning across his cheeks — he feels the velvety material in the fashion of beautiful bat wings. He stumbles forward in dismay, skimming the mirror's surface — it rippled under his touch, the glacial chill seeping into his being. 

A sense of familiarity settles over him, as if he’s seen this before — but Bruce is positive he’d recognise a mirror such as this, confident he would never forget the sensation of thick tarry substance clinging to his skin. To gratify his raging demand for confirmation he considers for just a second if he presses his palms against the mirror — he might pass through, like a doorway to another realm, another time, maybe? For a moment, he almost laughs at his own incredulous imaginings.

He’s had one too many film nights with Grace and Tommy to think up such notions. Or Tommy was correct, and he absolutely had too much to alcohol, too many wild nights partying — Still this does not prevent him from resting both palms against the rippling surface, with a slight pressure he applies he stumbles forward gasping in shock — as his palms slip into the mirror. 

Music reaches him suddenly, melodic, hypnotic calling to him, enticing him to apply just a slight more force and enter through the doorway.

With a final hesitation Bruce glances back towards the alley entrance, speculating if Grace and Tommy have even noticed he is missing — Grace at least, should have taken note by now and come searching for him, Tommy paid little heed as soon as the champagne flowed and the music began to thrum, his eyes seeking out the next pretty face. 

The melodic music thrums around him.

‘Come, come, come’ it seems to suggest, ‘meet us, join us’ he furrows his brow, there is no trace of Grace coming to seek him out. And the music sounds so appealing, a part of him is quite sure he’s dreaming, perhaps he would wake to his bed hungover with the sour bite of the previous night's Alcohol on his tongue.

If it was just a dream, it wouldn’t hurt to walk through, would it?

He could allow himself a little exploit, couldn’t he? There was after all no one to interrupt him from giving in to such temptations — Bruce had seen to that when he sent Alfred away.

Thinking Alfred’s name almost sparks something within him, it coils in the pit of his stomach — like a serpent waking from slumber — but just as he makes himself grasp onto something…

Something he knows is important… it slithers away from him and the snake coils, returning to slumber. 

Not allowing himself further debate he eases himself through the mirror, feeling the thick tarry liquid mould against his skin, before easing away as he steps out into a lengthy corridor, the music is louder now... more tempting, so hypnotic, mesmerising, inviting like a cooling hand brushing over his flesh, making the little hairs to stand on end.

Like a summoning… he pursues the music along the winding hall, his steps resounding in his ears as his heart beat increases, he’s so extremely curious, apprehensive but also feels a lick of excitement at the prospect of what he’s being led into.

What might he find at the end of the corridor, with its lofty domed ceilings and illustrations of creatures crawling, weaving with a misty forest scene? A tapestry so detailed lining the passageway walls, grotesque faces painted with such finite detail — it looks almost real. As they watch him, eyes follow his movements. 

Noises other than music reach his ears, the murmurings of people — lots of individuals and the shuffling of bodies, the whispering of long skirts sweeping the floor, amusement and the clinking of glasses... apparently Bruce has stumbled upon another party — as he's nearing the door to which the noises and music is loudest; he encounters a towering, exotic man leaning against the door frame. Adorned in clothing of black and gold, a cape falling from his shoulders and down his back, his gaze is deep and penetrating.

Unnerving Bruce, framed as the man is by the peculiar creatures, almost gathered around him in the tapestry, greedy little, clawed hands reaching out. He shudders, turning his gaze back to the unknown man. 

“Ah, Bruce, you made it.” His eyes look to blaze into him and Bruce has the sense, vague and gnawing that he knows this man, not only that — but he feels warmer, hotter on the inside, as if his emotions have caught fire and violence and rage are building within him.

He doesn’t know why such a reaction rises within him, Bruce is certain he’d never seen this man or met him before tonight.

Of course, that didn’t explain how the man knew his name.

Had they met before and Bruce had forgotten? 

“Do I know you?” he inquires, feeling uneasy under the man’s burning gaze, deep within him a lick of dark, smouldering anger unfurls from slumber. The response this man draws out in him scares Bruce.

A knowing look passed over the man’s face, “you devoured the peach?” His query is peculiar, and Bruce offers him a blank look, unable to recall if he'd eaten a peach lately, or in fact the last occasion he’d eaten a peach. Bruce preferred apples. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not certain that I understand what you mean.” he bites down on his bottom lip. The man’s gaze unsettles him.

The man shakes a palm and chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “A shame, he’s waiting for you just beyond those doors.” He signals to his right, to where the music is emanating. 

“Who?” Perhaps he meant Tommy. Maybe Grace and Tommy were inside and this was all some outrageous prank designed to confuse him. 

“Have fun, Bruce.” Says the man pushing from the wall and trailing away, the echo of his footsteps fading as he rounds a corner. 

Filled beyond measure with bewilderment and just a slight quiver of apprehension, Bruce edges closer to the door, his palm upon the handle. 

Inside, the chamber is decorated with sparkling lights pulsing in sync with the melodic composition, nets of chiffon drapery scatter the place hanging from the beam as he sweeps past them, they flare like cobwebs against his palm. The chamber is crowded with so many masked dangers — whose faces he cannot make out — above him garlands of shimmering fairy lights, silvery, gold and crystal beads hang, floating, weaving between the chiffon drapes giving the whole place an exquisite atmosphere, a faint mist is circulating, rolling along at his feet, painting a perfectly ethereal fantasy picture.

He walks through the throng of dancers, some bumping into him. Eyes following him as he continues on, faces leering at him as they mull about the filled tables overflowing with an array of fine food and drink, laughter drifts to his field of hearing rising above the melodious music wrapping around him, he turns his head this way and that scanning the crowd — laughter tinkles, the sound filling him with such familiarity — he twists and turns and shifts through the myriad of dancers, a sense of urgency compelling him.

Through the mist shrouded chiffon drapery he finds a masked figure laughing among a group of people, they lean into him with eager brushes of their fingers, hawk eyes drinking his form like devoted, pious followers: offering him refills of wine and plates of food, some are courageous enough to murmur in his ear, perhaps requesting a dance.

A fierce, clawing feeling rises within Bruce, he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t want these people pawing their attention, their hands upon the laughing figure. Again, it seems as if he’s forgotten something of the utmost importance. 

As if sensing Bruce’s attention the leader shifts turning his radiant eyes across the ballroom of dancers and revellers basking in the merriment, Bruce inhales a sharp breath when his sea-green eyes settle upon him, his heart flutters, his stomach flips — even though he cannot make out his full details behind the mask, Bruce knows he’s beautiful, magnificent. The mask of a court jester covered the dominant fraction of his face, rendering it black with a silvery lavender sheen as light spilled over him — three twisted black and violet horns, with spiralling veins of striking-emerald-green twining like serpents to the tip, embellished with little bells, silver patterned lace trimming circling the eyes. It coordinated with his strikingly shimmering, almost liquid-black blazer, a rich metallic purple waistcoat that hung over a graphite tunic and lush emerald green tie. Bruce feels his cheeks warm, his eyes lingering upon his red, inviting, tempting lips that curve into a smile, a picture of striking beauty. 

He feels dizzy as their eyes meet across the expanse an abrupt, searing electric current zapping throughout his frame, and Bruce feels the echo of ghostly fingers brushing across his cheeks, the caress of tender kisses over his eyelids — a deep longing sigh escapes him as the man, his gaze unflinching moves from his place among the crowd, heading over as if in a trance towards where Bruce stands, frozen unable to wrench his eyes away.

He swallows the lump lodged in his throat as the man pauses before him, extending out his black gloved hand for Bruce to hold... an offer to dance? On autopilot, he accepts, placing his hand atop the open waiting palm, leather creaks as fingers curl over his. A flutter of excitement rippling over him, his body pulled flush against the man's form, his free arm encircling his waistline.

Lowering his lips to Bruce's ear, “hello Precious,” his tone is a soft breathy sigh, “I’ve missed you.”

He wants to express he’s missed him too, but that’s absurd because Bruce does not know who this man is, he’s almost positive they’ve never met before, even though the sense of him is as familiar to Bruce as the impression of the sunlight's warmth kissing his skin. 

The stranger's expression shifts to a pout, his eyes narrowing “have you forgotten me, darling?” The profound desire to apologise fills Bruce, shame flooding him, yet he can’t comprehend why and scanning his memory for any remembrance of the person before who seems forlorn by Bruce’s silent confirmation.

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t recall if we know each other.” 

They flow along the dance floor, they are pressed so, so intimately together and still, it is not close enough for Bruce. The fluidity with which they move, the man’s fingers squeezing into the small of his back, guiding him along the marbled floor — fanning him out and drawing him back in. Clutching him securely, passing the other dancers, all of whom greedily watch them as they whirl along to the melody with them. Bruce is in a daze, feeling so conflicted, so confident there’s something he must remember.

Lips brush the arch of his ear, saturating him with warmth and the hunger to know the softness of those lips, “you know me, Bruce, you who turn my world.” He chuckles, breath fanning his cheek, “precious thing, everything I do, I do for you.”

He’s heard that before, such a declaration stirs something within him, there’s a name at the tip of his tongue, a name that fills him so, infects him on a whole other level. 

And he craves to kiss those lovely red lips, seeking the taste of bittersweet poison, yearning to be tainted with whatever feelings this man could conjure within him. He feels tilted, unhinged with the depth of the thoughts raging through him, the desire to set his palms upon the pale skin. The name is right there at the edge of his mind.

He does, he does, he feels the certainty of those words so firmly... gazing into those sea-green eyes Bruce feels a great wrench from deep within, a surge of force overwhelmingly intense, the streaming of affection and recollection and all the consuming revelation that he’s known all along; he could never actually forget this man before him, the keeper of his heart.

Jeremiah.

Jeremiah.

Jeremiah.

His eyelids lower, shifting closer, palms on each cheek the urge to immerse in this man’s, Jeremiah’s kisses smothering him, blazing within him. “Can I kiss you?” His words whispered, laced with a passionate desire.

A breathy sigh is his sole response before red lips brush again his, it’s warm and tender before turning needy and fierce and wet and Bruce, he loves it, can’t get enough, pressing closer, tighter, never seeming satisfied — his fingers sifting through Jeremiah’s hair, the locks silky between his fingers. Overwhelmed and flaming up, euphoric in the caress of lipstick clinging to his mouth, to his jaw, his cheeks — marked up and claimed, the touch of Jeremiah’s hands grasping his hips, as if he too, cannot become close enough. 

And he recalls it all, remembers blacking out after he’d devoured the peach Silver had insisted he eat with her slit tongued lies and promises of returning home. The breath flows from him, he grips Jeremiah closer, he never wishes to let go of him again.

Never... never... never.

“Oh Bruce, ... kiss me again.” His fingers twisted in Jeremiah’s hair, Bruce tugs him a little lower to press his mouth to those tender lips. They share breath, his heart drumming so loud it’s roaring in his ears, swamping out the hypnotic melody. He feels the quiver racing through him, soft, his lips are so soft and warm.

“... Miah.” He murmurs, his tone breathy and low. “Miah.” His best friend, his love... the one individual in the entire world who would accept Bruce through and through, true and true — not a single judgment passed over his actions or opinions. Bruce could not endure without Jeremiah, would not, ever. 

The ground beneath his feet groans, tearing open, a gaping wound of darkness, there is hardly a moment for him to capture Jeremiah’s eyes, wide with dismay behind his mask — he works to clasp onto the man, but his fingers are slipping, his grasp breaking away, and he’s plunging down, down, down…

Ripped away from Jeremiah…

Into a void of pitch black. 


End file.
